Savoring life. Writing on experiences. Moments and milestones in equal measure.

Monday, August 31, 2015

Let's Dance In The Rain!

Dancing In The Rain

Let's
start this one by reminiscing our childhood. Well mostly mine but I am sure you
will relate. It has been a long many years and it’s amazing how some of the
events of my childhood have stayed with me. It’s true how they say some things
stay with you for life. Even the silly things do – mostly so. Remember how
school used to be back in the day? How our tiny versions were full of life and immeasurable
exuberance? I miss those times man. I really do. Not that I have grown old but
things were different back then. I remember carrying packed lunch to school. The
lunch box we called ‘Tini’ and inside it a mixture of rice and potatoes. I also
carried a tea doll which I mostly hang religiously around my neck like a sort of
expensive ‘Bling’.

Sometimes the lunch box would drop while running to school. You
had to scoop that mixture up or starve the whole day; a damn hard choice. I would
choose the former anytime. Some days I’d feel the urge to eat the food before
lunchtime and then cry the whole afternoon for not having had any food.

I used to dread some things back
then - like getting to school late. Teachers on duty were absurdly mean. They would cane you with too much passion. I believe they enjoyed it. You'd think they were born to do that. I had
somehow gotten used to whooping but each time was different. You would
never be too comfortable with ass whooping – at least not the primary school I attended. A
teacher would be happy today and cane you rationally. Another day would be
marked by failed salary increment and this would mean next level whooping - like wet tree branches next level.

We
used to sing during morning assemblies and the PPI programs (anyone knows
what PPI used to stand for?) I remember singing ‘fadha abraham hazmeni
saa...ayamwandothe’ (Father Abraham had many sons…I am one of them). Don’t laugh;
it was pretty hard figuring those English words out in the village I grew up
in. We prayed too; ‘Our fatha who ati heve halo be tha ney,
thy kido ka” and I am sure God heard us. He listens to the heart you know. Occasionally
(mostly on closing days) we would fight. We called it ‘closing school with
someone’, a literal translation that is. This is where most boys learned to
stand up for themselves. I know I did. No one wanted to be labelled a coward. It was
better being the village hero even if it meant a black eye that your parent could never
find out about.

Seasons came and went. We enjoyed all of them. But we always looked
forward for the Christmas holiday season. Heck yea it was the best of them all.
It was different. Back then Christmas meant more than I can explain now. I still
smile at the Christmas memories we made. We would eat out hearts out. We would
eat meat man!!! Roasted meat, boiled meat, 'Maini', 'Mutura' you name it. We wore
new clothes. They would be bought in August to avoid December price hikes and get tucked
away to wait until December. But that never mattered. Fun was the center piece. Always.

Girls would play with balloons and cook 'Chapati'. But boys weren’t that
'lame' (apologies to any feminists out there). No, we did more than balloons. We would hook up with the cool cousins
from Nairobi and go out. Chase after girls, swim in the village rivers, cause little trouble here and there.
We’d even pee wherever we wanted. Nobody cared. It was Christmas.

Life
was good then. Right now growing up doesn’t seem anything like grownups made it
look like. Looks like a hoax to me. Anywho a specific memory crossed my
mind today. That memory is why we are talking about dancing in the rain.
Remember how we played in the rain as kids? No? If you never did then you’re
probably one of the urban kids who had a 'boring' life. Let me bring all of us to
speed about what dancing in the rain entailed. It took many versions but here
is mine.

You chuck from home in the morning as usual towards school. You’re in
a clean over-sized uniform. Your mum warns you against playing in the dirt – as usual.
School goes on fine, the day passing with canes here and there, undone
homework, failed math problems etc and most the time the teacher yelling about school
stuff you're not interested to know. Who wants to know how battles in the past were won by sijui akina Napoleon? Si we have our battles to fight now and we are not bragging about them ama?

In the afternoon, after eating the cold lunch you carried, it starts drizzling.
Your face beams with joy. This is going to be one of those days. The rains are
coming. It has to rain heavily today. You tell yourself. And like prophesy the
skies open up and the rain hits the ground fast and unapologetically. You dance
around in the class but that is not enough. Kamau, the kid who lives for these
moments, throws you out of the classroom and before you know it you are chasing
each other in the rain. It is fun. You scream and shout and cry when need be. You’re
lost in the moment. Two hours later and you’re done. The rain stopped long ago.
You smile and say goodbyes as you head home.

This smile fades towards home
because you’re certain what’s going to happen. You cringe at the thought of it.
You can’t imagine your mom whooping your tiny behind. Not again. It is always vigorous;
it makes you afraid, weak even. But you really don’t care, you had fun. Yea it
was fun. You did play in the rain.

Now
you’re probably wondering where I am going with this, here’s the thing, we are
not supposed to forget how to dance in the rain. Vivian Greene said "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it is about learning to dance in the rain". Our version
of rain will be storms of life. It's not like we are yearning for troubles as we yearned for rain as kids but like it or not we all get challenges.

People will
disappoint you. Someone will cheat on you. You’ll run out of money. You’ll be
robbed of small money or big money or both. You’ll fall ill and curse the day
you were born. You’ll get ahead of yourself sometimes. Heck even other times you’ll
fall on your face and it will hurt. You’ll think of quitting. You’ll want to
throw in the towel and walk away. You’ll be embarrassed that you can’t color
inside the lines. That you don't fit in.

But you have to realize this is life. To quit is to die. You can
never walk away because where you’re going there are still issues to deal with.
So staying and fighting is the thing. Yes, to stay and fight. Not the
relationship one - though it applies there too - but I mean the life one. Learn
to dance in what you perceive as trouble. Even when you’re sure it is an
equivalent of an ass whooping by life. Find fun in your storms. Be grateful for
the lessons learned and soldier on. Let's all dance in the rain, shall we?

Let me be subtle today and end with this simple but informative poem
by Ric Masten: